Misperceived Intention
by Nitroglycerin
Summary: A Hogwarts graduate tries to warn Pastor Jim about an oncoming threat... unfortunately for her, he's already met them.


A/N: Well… yes, I have an unfinished series, which at this point is likely to end up discontinued, as I've since learned many things. About writing, about characterization and plot… and about the natural progression of obsession.

Thank you wikias. Now I know that the Golden Trio are one year younger than Dean, and three years older than Sam. And I just _can't_ leave that alone.

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><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.<p>

Soft light fell against the wood and stone in an edgeless glow, doing little for the gloom that was as natural here as the dozens of lit, red candles. A man stood at the far end of the room, reading from a thick tome.

Had there been desks, and that not been a pulpit, Erin might have had to remind herself this was _not _a classroom at Hogwarts.

The muggle, or hunter, or whatever he was, didn't overtly react to her entrance. Turned a page of the tome, didn't look up. A week ago, she would have been sure that meant he hadn't even noticed.

Now, there was a reason she distinguished hunters from muggles.

Erin liked a good chat with someone, obtaining her information subtly, never needing to obliviate her conversation partner… but she had no time. She stopped several feet away from the man and reached for her wand. Just in case. Having no magic had done nothing to slow down the others.

She didn't threaten him though, not yet. Not if she could help it.

"You know John Winchester?" Erin asked, allowing wariness to curl her voice. She needed this situation clear, immediately.

He ducked the question, but disguised it in concern, "Why, is something wrong?"

"His sons are in danger. Where are they?" It was probably prudent not to mention her birthright yet. She heard Mark had tried that, and all _that_ got him was extended residency at St. Mungo's.

He was one of the lucky ones.

To her relief, the man didn't move. It would have been rather humiliating to back away from a muggle who might not even be dangerous.

Maybe she was getting a bit too paranoid…

… Except he didn't answer the question, instead firing another one – with an undertone of demand – right back at her, "From who?"

In spite of herself, Erin bristled at the audacity. "It doesn't matter. Just tell me where they are!"

And she couldn't help the hint of a snarl, because if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could force John Winchester onto his side… Erin prayed he was too proud to ever stoop to the level of recruiting muggles, but no one could be _sure_. Certainly, what the Ministry was doing – and what it wasn't – was_ not_ helping. Umbridge? _Really?_

And that was her final thought, as a blade shining with candlelit blood retracted from her heart.

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><p>Jim, or Pastor Jim as many called him, looked at the body and pool of blood on the floor, then to the boy responsible… one of his two temporary charges.<p>

Dean Winchester made short work of rifling through the pockets, producing a thin, carved stick of wood. As if the woman's garb wasn't enough. These 'Death Eaters' trying to disguise themselves at all was a recent development, and they really weren't any good at it yet.

Dean smirked. "Guess she didn't know how that gambit worked for her boyfriends."

Jim sighed, repressing his disconcert at Dean's casual attitude. Sure, he was a hunter, but he'd just killed something very near human, and he was _sixteen_.

And his other charge, peeking in from behind the heavy double doors, wasn't even that.

John was a good hunter, no argument about it, and Jim had no doubt he loved his sons. It was just, sometimes, when Dean came home with the fruits of a scam, when Sam slept with a salt-loaded gun within reach, when they both asked if their father had called, knowing the answer… it was hard not to resent the man.

Well, the eldest Winchester was likely to be back from Britain within the month, and then the boys would be back on the road, and Jim could go back to trying to convince himself that he really was doing all he could.

Shaking off the melancholy, Jim nodded to the brothers. "Sam, lighter fluid." They'd need a lot, for such a fresh corpse, "Dean, you get the shoulders."

And pretended the boys needed the instructions, as he and Dean carried the body out.

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><p><span>AN: As much as I'd like to make this a full story, my obsession is not likely to last nearly long enough. Plus, I wouldn't have any idea where to take it.


End file.
